


quiet quick and pacing

by JenLi



Series: Selection OC 6 [8]
Category: Selection OC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenLi/pseuds/JenLi
Summary: Challenge 4 - Snickerdoodles
Relationships: Jen Li/Arin Schreave
Series: Selection OC 6 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742209





	quiet quick and pacing

**Author's Note:**

> I must reiterate me, Grammarly, and God. WIll I someday edit this? No. Bye.
> 
> TW: More mentions of her assault (and other references to another person's), some food restriction, and Arin Schreave being fucking stupid
> 
> I feel like I had more to say about this lmao anyway enjoy

The moment Jen opened her eyes, she almost forgot. She almost forgot everything.

She almost thought she was in Waverly in her bed that was so firm with sheets that were overdue for a washing. Her floor would’ve been messy with clothes that she would eventually pick up. Her laptop would’ve been balanced somewhere, so close to taking a tumble. An ink pen would’ve quite possibly bled on her comforter. She was probably late for class too because she’d forgotten to plug her phone the previous night.

Ian would’ve texted her to see where she was. He didn’t want to have to dock points for attendance, but he always did. 

It took longer than it should’ve for her to realize that she was in neither her bedroom in Waverly nor her bedroom in the palace. The room was too cold. The sheets smelled different. She always slept on the left side of the bed.

Jen sat up then, the memories coming back seeming to come back all at once—her birthday, the night that had been great until it wasn’t, Idalia welcoming her back with no questions asked. She looked down at herself with aching eyes because she’d undoubtedly spent multiple hours crying herself to sleep, and even the fitful bits of sleep were from the pure emotional exhaustion that had come from the night.

A look to her right revealed Idalia, who was wrapping up her hand again, not seeming to have noticed Jen’s consciousness quite yet. She’d been the one who’d smushed her in a pile of blankets when she’d pretended to be asleep, the one who fed her tissues while her nose continued to run, the one who had unknowingly saved her from making a detrimental mistake.

She didn’t know what would’ve happened if she’d gone through with calling Ian, but it wouldn’t have been good. The time spent at the palace was supposed to be an opportunity to move on, and even if she knew he would have contacted her eventually, nothing prepared for it hurting this much.

Idalia had saved her from worlds of pain, and Jen would forever be grateful for that.

“How’s your hand?” she asked, finally making her consciousness known with a voice croakier than she’d expected.

Idalia looked up from where she was bandaging her hand at her small table, looking surprised to see her awake. “Hey.” She gave a small smile while she finished up wrapping the fresh gauze around her hand. “It’s fine. Happened last Friday. It’s just taking a bit because I keep using it.”

Jen nodded, satisfied enough with the answer, even if she still had questions. She wasn’t sure if her head could handle much more. “You should rest it more,” she said, looking back down at her lap.

Idalia’s smile was a bit sad when she turned to her. “I’ll manage,” she mumbled before standing up. “Do you want tea? I got water ready, but, um, I know some people don’t really like it.”

Jen hated tea, absolutely loathed the monstrosity that was warm flavored water, but she wasn’t going to say no. “Tea sounds good.” Just as she expected, Idalia did perk up the slightest bit, and if drinking warm flavored water was what did it, then she would enjoy every drop. 

“Want honey with it?

She hated honey. “Sure.”

Idalia walked over to her desk where an electric kettle sat, not looking back to her as she went over the options. “Green tea or peppermint? I also have chamomile. Oh! There’s some black and earl grey too. Keep it around for Dice but don’t tell her that.”

She didn’t have the brainpower for this, so she just gave her a smile. “Surprise me.”

Idalia hummed but didn’t look back to her as she continued preparing her tea. “Do you like stronger flavors?”

“Yeah,” she lied.

Idalia seemed to be able to sense it, though, because she looked over her shoulder with a smile, tilting her head. “You sure?”

Jen had dug herself into this hole, and there was no coming back now. “Love strong flavors, yeah.”

“Alright,” she said, though Jen could tell she was suspicious. She started pouring the hot water into a mug before opening a cabinet within the desk and picking out a teabag. “I hope I didn’t overwhelm you with the blankets.”

Jen looked down at herself and the blanket piled on top of her legs. She remembered the vague drape of each blanket when Idalia had draped them across her, eyes shut as she pretended to sleep, and she could recall the fond feeling in her chest, a confusing mixture with everything in her head. “They were fine.” She looked back up at her, her voice going a little softer. “Thank you. You know, for last night.”

There was a hint of a smile on her face. “I did say you could ask for anything.”

“I know you did, and I appreciate it.” There were very few people she knew who would. “I'm sorry, though. I don't usually react like that to things.” She’d always been a fairly emotional person, but those feelings were almost always internalized. Something about this palace brought out the worst in her emotions, everything she’d worked on repressing. 

Idalia put the teabag in the mug before looking back at her again. “Why are you sorry?”

Why shouldn’t she have been? Idalia had better things to do than spend her night comforting a hysterical girl who had nothing else to offer. “You shouldn't have to deal with it.”

“That’s... kind of what friends are for.” Idalia smiled. “When you feel like you need it. It’s just company. Everyone deserves some company.”

Her hand reached into her lap to fiddle with the hem of one of the blankets like she was a kid again and crying over something she wouldn’t even remember within a week’s time. Her sister, as much as they hadn’t gotten along with their age difference, would crawl into bed with her just to watch those Disney Nature documentaries under the covers, and Jen appreciated it albeit begrudgingly. It was nice to not feel alone. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

Idalia didn’t speak for a moment, but she did finish up with the tea, taking the bag out and adding the drizzle of honey she’d, unfortunately, agreed to before turning around to sit down next to her and offering her the mug. “My dad…” She trailed off, looking down at the mug as Jen took it from her hands. “He says when you’re not sure what to say, just showing you’re there is a good place to start.”

The mug was almost too hot against her palms, but she just kept staring down at it until the darkened liquid ultimately won. She took a sip and fought the grimace threatening her face but kept it together. At least it was distracting. “Your dad sounds pretty smart.”

Idalia looked down at her hands, fiddling with a bracelet chain on one of her wrists with a soft smile. “He is.” 

Jen wanted to say the same. Her dad wasn’t a stupid man having gone through four years of medical school, but he was never good with words, especially with the gap between the two years he’d spent with Jen and the distance between them when she’d come back as a teenager. They’d never recovered their relationship the way she wished they had, but then again, she’d never given him the opportunity either.

“Do you… want to talk about what happened last night?” Idalia asked, breaking through her thoughts.

She didn’t answer right away, not quite sure which portion of last night warranted talking. Realistically, she knew Idalia meant the part where she knocked on her door past midnight and started sobbing with no explanation, but a lot of things happened that night. There was no clear-cut answer she would’ve been able to give. She wasn’t even entirely sure how she’d gotten there herself. “It was stupid.”

Idalia’s smile softened. “I’m sure it wasn’t as stupid as you think it was.”

“I just…” Getting upset because a boy she barely knew wouldn’t hold her in the backseat of car practically screamed stupid. She knew that, but she couldn’t stop the way it hurt. “It was a bad night.”

Idalia was silent for a moment, eyes searching for something, though Jen couldn’t tell what. They settled back on her. “Bad thoughts?”

_ Bad thoughts. _ That was one way to describe them. “Bad everything.”

Idalia left her in silence again, and Jen immediately found herself wishing she would speak again, even if it was to pry. After a moment, she gave her a small smile. “Well… I will admit my present was very bad.”

The glass in her room, the glass preceding the letter that kept her from making a huge mistake. The glass Idalia thought specifically for a birthday Jen hadn’t even told her about. “I liked it,” she said, even though her feelings were stronger than simply liking it.

A part of her wished she’d told the truth and said she’d loved it because Idalia’s eyes lit up just with that simple confession. “So not everything was bad.”

Jen gave her a small smile, a little forced but not entirely. It was the truth. Not everything that night had been bad. Most of the night hadn’t been bad. It had been filled with Gossip Girl and then going out with a guy she’d come to like at least a little, a guy who’d held her in the kitchens and taken her out for her birthday and bought her a non-alcoholic drink when she’d mentioned she didn’t drink much. A guy who’d bought her a book about women’s rights and played footsies with her under the table of a slightly run-down bar near campus and sat with her in the back even when he hadn’t wanted to. Not everything was bad. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess not.” She’d just made the rest of it so.

Idalia looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the edge of her gauzed hand. A part of her wanted to nag, tell her to leave it be or it wouldn’t heal, but she didn’t have the energy. “What else did you do yesterday?”

There were many things she could’ve said, but none of her explanation sounded right in her head. She went with the simple version to her day. “I watched Gossip Girl.” It was most of what she’d done that day, though it was unlikely she would’ve cried that hard simply from Chuck and Blair breaking up yet again.

“Oh,” Idalia said, obviously not having expected that. “Very… lucrative of you.”

She nodded, a brief smile on her lips because it was, indeed, very lucrative, but it didn’t last long as she considered whether it was a good idea to say what she wanted to. “And I went out with Arin.”

There it was. Out in the open. “Oh,” Idalia said again, less surprised than expected and more concerned for what was next. 

“You don’t sound very surprised.”

Idalia chuckled without much humor. “I’m on... a truce with Arin in my head. Out of good spirits mostly. He already left a rather.... poor impression after our first date despite his attempts to apologize. I don’t think we’ve talked in…” She paused, looking up to count in her head before blowing out a breath. “I don’t know. The past two weeks at least? I’ve heard stories in the women’s room though. And from Evalin. They don’t make me any more confident but everyone seems to think it’s fine, so…” She just shrugged, like she couldn’t find the words to finish the sentence, and glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “What happened?”

Jen wasn’t exactly surprised. She’d heard talk, though no one had exactly divulged the juicy details to her face. She’d just assumed that had been about the first dates, though, not recently. He’d changed in some type of way with her, though she’d apparently vastly overestimated what that meant to him. “It wasn't his fault. Not really.” It was in a way, but she’d been the one to take things out of his comfort zone. “I just got too... It's all in my head.” She pressed her lips together at the confession. “That’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I just needed to sleep it off.” Even with that, she felt like absolute shit in every regard. As nice as it was to not be alone, she needed some time. She lifted her mug to her lips again and downed most of the tea in one go before setting it down on the nightstand next to the letter Idalia had written to her that she’d spent far too long clutching the night before and pulled the blankets off her before standing. “Thank you for letting me stay. I should…” She looked to the door. “I should go.”

“Oh, um—” Idalia stood up at her sudden need to leave. “You don’t have to. And you don’t have to explain more than you already have if you don’t want to.”

Jen gave her a weak smile, appreciative of everything she’d done already, but she missed her own bed, even with what awaited her there. “Thank you, but I think I need some time alone.” Before she retreated back, though, she grabbed the letter of the nightstand and tucked it a bit behind her back even though it wasn’t exactly a secret. “I'll probably skip breakfast,” she said, knowing she didn’t have it in her to face him, “but, um… Maybe we can talk later sometime.”

Idalia gave her a slow nod, looking off to the side for a moment before returning to her eyes with a weak smile. “Alright. Just remember to eat something.” That was debatable, but she wouldn’t tell her that, just following Idalia as she walked over to open the door.

“I will,” she said, stopping in the doorway. “Glance at me at lunch.”

She grinned. “Right.” Jen turned to leave, but Idalia’s voice stopped her in her tracks. Their eyes met, and Jen suddenly felt like Idalia was able to read every secret in her eyes. The funny thing was that she didn’t mind it. “Don’t forget, there’s still another 364 days. One of them is bound to be great.”

At the moment, Jen wasn’t sure that was true. Everything in her life seemed to be crumbling all at once again with no way for her to stop it, but she still appreciated the thought, even if any semblance of happiness didn’t seem to be in the cards at the moment. “I hope so.” She wished she could say more, but there was nothing. Just nothing. Instead, she just smiled at Idalia one more time before heading out the door, the letter still clutched in her hand as she went.

Her maids were already in her room when she walked in, each of their heads turning to look at her at the exact same time. She paused at the door when she shut it, needing a moment before she faced any more familiar faces. Her maids had become less touchy around her since the first night, but she hadn’t let herself get close to them in the way the other girls seemed to have done. She figured, though, they were there to do their job. It wasn’t right to force them to do any more than they had to.

“Is everything alright, Miss?” June still hadn’t started calling her by her name, no matter how many times she’d mentioned it was alright. Jen understood. Keep some boundaries and it was easier not to let lines blur within professional relationships. “We tidied up the room last night after you left, but the bed was still made.” A pause. “Except for the pillows.”

Galilee popped her head out of the bathroom with that familiar smile on her face. If Jen talked to any of her maids, it was always Galilee. “I heard you were with the prince last night. Did you happen to… spend the night with him too?”

Jen didn’t have time for her brain to process the idea before June turned to Galilee with wide eyes. “You  _ cannot _ assume such things.” She turned back to Jen with a reassuring smile. “My apologies, Lady Jen.”

Jen gave her a weak smile as she continued further into the room, hoping that she looked at least somewhat presentable and not too shaken up from the night before and the mere suggestion she and Arin had spent the night together. “It’s alright.” Her eyes raked over the floor, thrown pillows now perfectly placed back where they belonged and phone plugged into the charger on the nightstand. There was no book. 

“If you were,” June began, sounding a little hesitant, “none of us will say anything, My Lady.”

She barely noticed June’s words as she turned to the small bookshelf that held only the things she was currently reading. As expected, Laura Dawson’s book was in the exact place she’d thought it to be. Safe and sound. She hated how much she cared about it even after everything. “He took me out,” she said after tearing her eyes away from the book. Hannah, the quiet one, stood from the other side of the bed, not appearing to be listening, but Jen knew she was. “I spent the night with Idalia.”

“Kara says Idalia’s the sweetest,” Galilee said as she busied herself again. “Most of the girls are from what I’ve heard. Some of the ones sent home weren’t.”

Jen let herself crawl back into bed, realizing only then that she’d left her shoes in Idalia’s room. She walked around barefoot in this place enough. “Maybe that’s the secret,” she said as she slipped under the covers and reached up to unbutton a few buttons of her shirt. “He’s sending home girls based on how they treat lower castes. That tells a lot about a person.”

June hummed as she continued wiping off the table set in the corner that Jen was sure wasn’t dirty, but it was part of their daily rounds. “That is very true, My Lady.”

“What would you assume of my character based on my treatment of you all?” It was a question she’d been wanting to ask, but there really was never a good time. June was usually strictly professional, and Hannah rarely came in during the mornings since she tended to work on clothes or doing laundry. She could’ve asked Galilee, but she would’ve just told her what she wanted to hear.

“My Lady, I—”

“I’d just like to know.” She looked down in her lap, not really sure if she was ready to hear the answer. It could’ve just been another thing to add onto an already not great start to her morning. “I just… want to keep myself in check. I never want to be the person who feels entitled to more than they deserve. If I am, then I want to know.”

No one spoke, not even Galilee, who always seemed to have something to say. She didn’t think that boded well for her. After a moment, June paused her cleaning and cleared her throat. “Lady Jen, we’re professionals.” She turned to her. “We work in customer service in the most important facet of the sort since our job relies on your happiness with our work. As long as you’re satisfied with our work, then does it matter how we feel?”

The question was rhetorical, but it shouldn’t have been. She wasn’t sure what kind of training they’d received, but it sounded like June was reciting from a textbook. Something didn’t feel right about it. “It does to me.”

More silence. She wondered if they’d ever come across such a request. None of them were older than mid-20s, so they couldn’t have been working in the palace that long. Perhaps she was one of their first assignments and was going against the grain of everything they’d been taught. If that was the case, then she wanted to set a good precedent.

After a moment, Galilee was the one who unexpectedly broke the silence. “June’s right. Our job is focused on your happiness.” She almost spoke up at how her happiness wasn’t the concern at the moment, but then Galilee continued. “Sometimes, though, I feel like no matter what we do, you aren’t happy with us. I don’t want to say it’s frustrating because you’ve never been cruel to us, but I wish I could do something to change that.” Her eyes tore away from hers. “That’s all.”

Jen wished she could deny it, but there was nothing she could say to make it less true. She’d been there over a month, and even if she was never particularly unkind to her maids, she couldn’t say she was… there either. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

June took a step forward. “You don’t have to—”

“I am happy with what you do for me,” Jen said to Galilee despite June’s attempt. “I’ve been going through things, dealing with my own head. It’s not a good excuse, but I hope it’s an explanation. I’m never not happy with you all. You do more for me than I deserve.”

“It’s more than enough, Jen,” Galilee reassured, smiling despite the look June was sending her for the use of her name. “We are professionals, but if you want to be more than that, we—or I—would be happy. Whenever you’re ready. If you ever are, that is. No pressure.”

June didn’t reply, just pressed her lips together before going back to her cleaning, but the action was softer than it was before somehow. She must’ve been afraid to get in trouble, so similar to Jen, but she didn’t have the same amount of privileges. She imagined the palace was one of the highest tiers of employment for Sixes, so one slip up could cost them their jobs. Jen was lucky in almost every regard of her life, and her caste privilege was no exception to that.

“I’d really like that,” she told Galilee but really meant all of them. 

The silence after that was comfortable. The next phrase spoken was June telling her it was time to get ready for breakfast, to which she simply said she was skipping that morning with no further explanation on the subject. She would cope with the string of rejection and embarrassment and the bit of anger enveloping her chest, but for now, she needed a bit of time, so with that thought in mind, Jen slipped back under her covers and tried to force herself back into another fitful sleep even though she knew it was useless.

  
  


She’d meant to go to lunch, but that didn’t happen. Neither did dinner. Instead, she stayed in bed, curled in on herself with the sheets pulled up to her nose as she laid awake. Thinking. Feeling.

Her phone was in her hands, scrolling again through text messages she told herself not to touch along with the new additions that the night before had brought her. The initial shock of the messages was just a fleeting thought, but she still couldn’t deny the way they still hurt. She could pretend all she wanted to, but that was the truth. They hurt.

Jen didn’t entirely know why. She didn’t want Ian, not anymore, but still missed him in some sick way, even if she shouldn’t have, even if she didn’t want to. The messages were just another reminder of that.

_ You know deep down I’m it for you, Jennie. _

It was that one that hurt, the one she thought about the most because she really didn’t know if it was true. A part of her wanted to refute it, but when she thought about it, he was the one she always imagined in her future. He was the one she imagined holding her five years from then, the one she imagined in ten years, as if whatever dance they’d been doing around every person in her life would’ve survived that long. Someone would’ve found out eventually, and then there would’ve been hell to pay for both of them.

Even knowing she wanted him, she still couldn’t deny exactly how much she didn’t at the same time. She missed him, but she didn’t miss the way he made her feel. He always wanted more. Nothing was ever enough, and she had no idea when it would’ve stopped. She had no idea if she would’ve ever allowed it to stop if she hadn’t been forced to. 

That was what she hated the most, the knowledge that if not for the Selection, then she probably still would’ve been with him. Even after their fight, she would’ve gone back, let herself stay with him and continue tearing herself and her family apart. The remorse always ate at her gut, but it was never.

Jen figured that was typical of bad people. Every opportunity to end the charade, every opportunity to tell him no, and she never did. She’d never told him no to anything before the final goodbye that hadn’t been a goodbye at all. She hadn’t been strong enough to say no the last time either, even when she wanted to. She let him do what he wanted like always, and she couldn’t deny some part of her wanted it too. 

Now it was just a matter of if she would go back to him after what he’d done. What he’d tried to do.

Sometimes she wondered whether the Plan-B hadn’t worked, even after her period. Stranger things had happened to people much luckier than her. It wouldn’t have been completely unheard of. The thought usually appeared late at night when her head was too tired to filter things out but too wired up to actually sleep.

She wasn’t pregnant. She knew she wasn’t, but she still couldn’t get rid of that voice in her head that kept trying to convince her otherwise. There was no way to find out for sure until she was eliminated because God knew she wasn’t asking for a pregnancy test in a place where she was meant to be dating the prince of Illéa, a prince she had most definitely not had anything close to sex with. She was sure someone would tell him if she tried, and then this whole charade would be over.

She would just have to deal with it until he was done with her. 

Until then, she would keep her promise, even if he obviously didn’t want her to.

After lunch, Idalia checked on her again, and she brushed her off as best she could. She’d claimed her maid had brought her up food, but she hadn’t. The mere thought made her stomach churn. Idalia had given her a nod and left without lecturing, though she’d stopped at the traitorous growling of Jen’s stomach. When she’d skipped dinner, Idalia had simply come with an offering: a handful of wrapped, chocolate eggs. She’d thanked her but simply set them on her nightstand. 

She ate them all at 2 AM when her head finally let her feel the pangs of hunger.

When she couldn’t bring herself to get up in the morning, Idalia had come with her second offering, this time being candy she’d claimed she’d gotten on her way to her academy. Jen had eaten that too.

The next offering was ring pops. She’d chewed them all. They spiked her sugar, but it was enough.

30 minutes before she was supposed to be at dinner, she dragged herself from bed. Every muscle in her body practically demanded her to stay exactly where she was, but her mind was what screamed louder. It would’ve been so easy to just stay, let herself sink into the mattress and continue the routined self-pity, but the longer she stayed, the worse she felt. It took everything for her to stand again and make herself shower, and it took even more to put on a presentable outfit, but she did it, and that was something.

Jen couldn’t stop her heart from pounding as she walked to the dining room just a minute before she was supposed to be there, but no one looked to her as she entered. No one noticed she’d been missing. Except, of course, for the small smile Idalia gave her. She kept that with her as she walked to her seat, even if they were seated on the opposite sides of the room. With every elimination, there were fewer and fewer tables to go around, and they were now down to just two. She still wasn’t sure how she’d made it this far. 

Arin was there when she came in, but she kept her eyes anywhere but on him. He couldn’t know just how much that had affected her. He probably hadn’t noticed her skipping meals. Some girls did it regularly, though that was usually for actual reasons, not just not being able to get out of bed.

Even the smell of food made her stomach lurch, but she served herself anyway, just simple things she would hopefully be able to choke down more easily, and it worked for the most part. No one looked at her. She didn’t look at anyone. At least, she tried not to.

It was hard not to spare a glance toward Arin every once in a while even if he was one of the last people she wanted to look at, but there was no one else. She wasn’t exactly friends with anyone at her table, Idalia’s back was to her, and even Wylan couldn’t see her. She kept her eyes on her plate, only allowing herself the occasional glance to Arin.

At some unlucky point, his eyes met hers, his expression neutral. He broke his gaze first, and she followed.

He was normal, but she’d expected him to be. She knew he wouldn’t care. To him, she was just the basketcase who cried in the back of his car.

*

Days later, Jen picked the book out from the bookshelf and opened it.

The signature was still pristine, but the first page of the author’s introduction was not, littered with dried tear marks that crinkled the page and made the ink run. Just another product from that night that would stay with her.

Jen had intended to read the book immediately, but every time she so much as glanced at it, memories came rushing back. Even now as she looked down at the page, the way she felt at that moment was all too vivid. The way his fingers felt, the way he didn’t look at her, the way she clutched the book as she cried. Everything came flooding back.

But it still wasn’t Arin’s fault, not really. He’d given her what he could, and she was the one expecting too much. She couldn’t fault him for that, no matter how much it hurt. Besides, she’d promised Laura Dawson she would read her book, and she wasn’t going to disappoint her, even if she didn’t care.

She turned to chapter one.

_ And Her Number _ was easily described but complex from the very beginning. Eight women, eight castes, stories so similar in some aspects and so different in others. Each had something different to say, and each succeeded with their message.

The One didn’t speak much on her personal life because she couldn’t. As the first woman introduced, her chapter primarily served as an introduction and spoke of her privileges as a woman in the highest available caste but also how even she had been harassed by men with little remorse. If a man had the balls to harass a One, then there was no telling what he would do to someone worse off.

The Two was famous, though it wasn’t revealed why. She spoke of the amount of sexism she’d been under scrutiny for over the years, how she’d been preyed on by men since she was a young teenager. She’d been one of many to have people excited for her 18th birthday for more than just her being able to drink.

The Three was an academic as were many in Jen’s caste. She didn’t disclose which field she worked in, but it was predominantly populated by men. It didn’t matter how many places she worked or jobs she applied to. She would always be in the minority in her field, and if there was a female colleague, they would be pitted against each other, like only one of them could ever exist or there would be too many.

The Four was a restaurant manager when she got pregnant with her and her husband’s first child. She’d taken her allotted maternity leave and returned to work on time. Two weeks later, management fired her because she wasn’t “performing,” but a friend who worked with her supervisor confirmed it was because the men in charge didn’t think a woman couldn’t manage while having to take so much time off with her children. 

The Five was a musician who claimed she would’ve done anything to become a Two until it actually came down to it. She wouldn’t have sex with men who claimed they would get her a record deal. When she refused, they told her she would regret it.

The Six worked as a live-in maid in a wealthy client’s home as many did. This was the story that made Jen pause. 

The Six’s clients were a family of Twos with nothing seemingly wrong with them. They had the life every Illéan wished they did with the big house, three kids, and loyal golden retriever. The father had been a news anchor and the mother a retired model. Their children were creative and ambitious, their eldest with his sights on Stanford and the others younger but with goals no less inspiring. A kind family, easy to deal with. Perfect for a young, new maid like she had been when the Six had begun her work there. 

And it was until one night when the mother wasn’t home and the father invited her to drink, to which she’d accepted only because she didn’t feel like she could say no. He’d kissed her without asking, and the Six had sat there silently until it was over, until he’d decided it was over.

_ He assaulted me, _ the book said in clear print, and Jen read over the line more times than she meant to.  _ He took my lack of refusal as a yes. He looked into my eyes and didn’t read the panic. He didn’t read the fear. He looked into my eyes and smiled because he knew I was trained enough to do exactly what he wanted me to. I was just a girl afraid to lose everything. _

_ Ian smiles after he kisses her the first time, looking straight into her eyes while she sits on that chair with tears in her eyes. He couldn’t have missed them. Her essay lays discarded on the desk, 67 circled in red ink. She hadn’t really failed. _

_ “Ian,” she says when he pulls away, her heart pounding so fast, and not in the way she wants it too. There are no butterflies in her stomach. There is just nothing. She closes her eyes, afraid the tears will fall if she doesn’t. “What about—”  _ Georgia. Harley. My family. Your job. Me.

_ “No one has to know, Jennie. I love you,” he whispers just before he kisses her again. “You wouldn’t want me to stop, would you?” His hands still sit on her thigh, and she knows she doesn’t want it, but those words are the only thing keeping her from pulling away. _

_ She can handle a few bad essays. She can handle a few kisses if that’s what he wants. She doesn’t think she can handle him leaving. _

_ He assaulted me. _ She read over the line again, her hands clutching the book a little tighter. No matter how many times she tried to keep reading, her eyes went straight back to that line as if it were the single piece of the puzzle she’d been missing. The amount of times she’d heard the word before reading about court cases, the number of times she’d had to give the exact definition, the amount of times she’d heard victims describe the act in excruciating detail, and it had never occurred before.

Ian had assaulted her.

Even if she didn’t say no, even if she hadn’t pulled away, even if she’d listened to him when she told him this was what was best for her, he did.

Six months later, she realized.

Jen had never done much research into victims of sexual assault, which was a misstep on her own part as an aspiring lawyer, but she was sure it would explain some things. Her brain flipping out when Arin touched her thigh. The need for his validation. The reason she’d gotten into this mindset in the first place. The reason she’d messed things up.

She knew it was all in her head. She just hadn’t known how much had a reason for existing.

*

Days later, Jen finally mustered up the courage to send the note she’d written up the night she’d opened the book again.

_ Since we only seem to get along in one place. Kitchen 1am. Be there. _

No signature and her most neutral writing. She hoped the tone helped get the urgency came across.

The note was sent at 10 PM, and she immediately regretted not sending it later because that left her with three hours to consider exactly what she was going to say when he got there, but no matter what words she put together, nothing sounded right in her head, and she was sure saying  _ I had a mental breakdown in the back of your car because I didn’t realize I was assaulted by my college professor and family friend _ would not come across well.

By 12:30, she still had nothing, so she swallowed down all the acquired anxiousness from this meeting and tried to muster whatever strength she had left as she headed to the kitchen. The place was luckily open and free, and she took a good few minutes to compose herself as she looked down into the stainless steel counters, which were as pristine as they always were. Unfortunately, that also meant her tinted reflection was far too easy to see. She already knew she didn’t look well. She didn’t need any more reminders of it.

By the time 1:00 AM rolled around, Jen needed something to distract herself from the fact that she still had no idea what to say or how to even start this conversation. She didn’t even know what this conversation was supposed to  _ be. _ An apology? A reason? She didn’t know. She just knew she needed to fix a relationship she’d damaged because of Ian. Ian, who didn’t belong anywhere near the new things she was trying to forge.

She started looking for a recipe while she waited for him to show. When she’d long settled on one, she began getting ingredients out. When she’d dug through every single cabinet and managed to find even the cinnamon, she began getting out whatever materials she figured they would need. When she looked up at the clock next, her gut sank. Too far after the time she’d asked him to meet. He wasn’t going to show. After all this, he wasn’t going to fucking show.

Jen tried to push away the sting of yet another rejection as she began putting away the bowls. Perhaps this was another sign. Him not wanting to hold her in the backseat was simply because he didn’t like her in that way. He didn’t like her enough to even show up.

She heard Arin enter before she saw him, but even then, her eyes stayed on the bowls she was putting back into the cabinet she was kneeling at. A glance to the clock on the wall showed it was 1:20. Almost too late.

“I got your note. I was working.”

She glanced up to see her note tossed on the island between them but didn’t raise her eyes to meet his as she stood again, taking another bowl to put away. “I'm not sure drinking scotch at 1 in the morning constitutes work.”

“Right,” he said. “Sorry. I forgot you’re an expert on what I do and don’t do.”

She scoffed and knelt again to put the bowl away. When she’d invited him here, she’d expected things to be awkward, not for him to be a total asshole again, but things seemed to have changed since that night. “I am, yes, because I'm also aware you have no idea how to use that Rolex on your wrist, but we're not going to talk about you being late because that would be an even greater waste of my time.” She rose to her feet and set her hands on the counter before finally looking up at him. “I don't want to fight with you like this.”  _ Fight like we always do. _

“Then why am I here if I'm only wasting your time? You seem like you're managing whatever mess you're making and you don't need my help.” Completely unprompted, he began undoing the watch on his wrist.

She was so tempted to say  _ fuck it _ and just leave, but she’d mustered up the courage to plan this, so she would be damned if she didn’t follow it through. “Because I would like to talk about what happened on my birthday, so we're making cookies.” She nodded her head over to the sink. “Go wash your hands.”

His watch dropped to the counter. “I don't really feel like talking if you don't mind. And I don't want cookies.”

“You made me cry myself to sleep on my birthday,” she said as she leaned over the counter, unmistakable murder in her eyes. “The least you can do is make fucking snickerdoodles with me.” A low blow, maybe. It was technically his fault, but there were a lot of factors that went into that night that she could barely think about figuring out.

Besides, it did the trick because Arin’s eyes widened, and he walked over to the sink without further complaint, washing his hands very thoroughly. The sight allowed herself a moment to breathe, and by the time she returned, she’d calmed enough to return to her previous state of anxiety. “I would like to preface this conversation with an apology first.”

He silenced her by holding up a hand. “Don’t.”

Even without having planned out much of this talk, she knew an apology was going to happen from the beginning. She’d given no explanation before having a breakdown in the back of his car, and that would’ve left even the most uncaring of people unsettled. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because what are you going to apologize for? Nothing worthwhile.”

“Why do you say that?” There was plenty she could apologize for. It wasn’t hard to figure out what the subjects would be. “You don't even know what I was going to say.”

“And I don’t need to,” he said, leaning a little into the counter.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. First, he made her cry. Now he was telling her what to do. “What if I want to?”

“You shouldn’t.” He tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

The mere action was grating in itself. If she wanted to apologize, she should be able to. “Well, you aren’t the boss of me.”

“Technically… I am.”

Everything seemed to pause for a moment as her gaze matched his again. “Did you really just say what I think you said?”

“I did.” At least there was hesitance in his voice this time. “But like I said, technically.”

She considered him for a moment, wondering how fucking stupid one had to be to say something like that in front of a girl who was clearly already not happy, but Arin Schreave didn’t seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to women. She let out the most unhumored laugh imaginable from the sheer idiocy alone. “You’re funny.”

He crossed his arm over his chest as he watched her. “Only to people with a terrible sense of humor.”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his completely hilarious statement to instead push one of the bowls she’d left out toward him, followed by a measuring cup and flour. “I need 2 ¾ of a cup.” She grabbed the softening butter off the counter and grabbed the last bowl from the counter, not meeting his gaze as she measured out what she needed. “And never say you're the boss of me again. I have dual citizenship in New Asia.” God knew she would be completely unrecognizable there.

“Well, we’re not in New Asia, are we?” he asked, still not moving.

“Not yet.” She gave him a pointed look. “Measure.”

“Good luck making it there,” he said as he finally opened up the flour.

She switched on her phone on the counter to double-check the amount of butter but also let her eyes look at the time. “It's not too late. I'm sure I could find a flight for the morning if I tried.” Her credit cards would hate her, but the victory of spite might’ve been worth it, honestly.

“I'm sure you could. But that doesn't mean you can leave.” When she looked up at him, his eyes were still on the bag. “Knife.”

She opened a drawer and handed one to him by the hilt, watching as he leveled off the flour. “Oh, so we're holding me hostage now?” It was within his rights, technically. The contract said as much.

“If the shoe fits—in your twisted fairytale.” He set the knife down, not looking at her. “Bowl.”

She slid one across the counter, his words still stuck in her mind _. _ “Twisted fairytale. That's a new one.” She supposed it worked. Arin Schreave was definitely no Prince Charming.

He dumped the flour into a bowl and immediately went back into the bag. “Do you have a better name for it?”

“No, but it wouldn't include fairytale in the name,” she answered before setting to work on actually measuring out how much better they needed. She really did want cookies after this. Either to bond or as comfort food when he ultimately kept being an asshole. “But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about, so I'd rather not argue about semantics.”

“Well, then what would you prefer to argue about?” He pulled the measuring cup from the bag and dumped the second portion of flour. “I need a smaller measuring cup.”

Jen grabbed a half-cup portion and slid it across the counter. “I already told you I don't want to fight with you.” She glanced up at him, at the face that she hated she’d come to enjoy. “Even if you make it easy.”

“Like you’re a walk in the park?”

She huffed a laugh because he really had no idea. “I know I'm not, which was one of the things I wanted to talk about.” She looked down as she took the stick of butter out of its packaging and put it in the bowl in front of her. “After I apologized.”

“Look, I really don’t want an apology.” He dumped another quarter-cup into the bowl. “And I'm not sure a heart to heart is a good idea. I'm not sure I can watch you cry like that again.”

A reply didn’t formulate in her right away after he spoke, too caught off guard by the words and what he meant by them. He definitely hadn’t seemed too bothered in the car when she cried, didn’t even try to do anything to comfort her. He didn’t do anything at all. “Why would you care if I cried?”

“Why wouldn't I care if you cried?” He still wasn’t looking at her, just poured the rest of the flour into the bowl before sliding it back over the island.

“It’s my problem, not yours.” 

As she put two sticks of butter in the bowl, Arin walked over to the pantry to put away the flour. “What? You would rather I didn't give a shit?” He let out a huff of disbelief. “Because it didn't seem that way to me.”

“I didn't say that. Maybe I just want to cry.” Maybe she just wanted to stop feeling these feelings about him. Maybe she wanted to just know if there was any part of him who actually cared about her.

“Fine,” he huffed. “What’s next?”

_ Lovely. _ She passed him the baking soda and a half-teaspoon. “You don't have to sound so disappointed. I just want to fix things.”

When he picked up the baking soda and half-teaspoon, he walked around to her side of the island, positioning himself a few feet away, but still… It was something. “Fix things?” He pulled the bowl toward him and began measuring out the baking soda.

“I wasn't kidding when I said I considered you a friend.”  _ Obviously you were. _ “I tend to be good at letting them slip away, and I feel like that's what happened.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Jen,” he said as he set the teaspoon and baking soda back on the counter before turning to face her.

“Do things feel as normal as they used to be?”

“Nothing in my life is normal anymore so there’s no point in asking. What’s next?”

She sighed as she stepped closer to grab a mixing spoon for herself and passed him the carton of eggs. “Two eggs,” she told him before beginning to mix her ingredients together, her eyes focused on her bowl. “How would you describe us then?”

“After what happened, I don’t know. I don’t even know why you invited me here.”

“I told you I wanted to fix things.” She gripped the spoon a little tighter to keep herself from losing it. “If there's nothing to fix, then why are you acting like this?”

She heard him crack the eggs into the bowl, and he stepped away to throw out the shells. “Because I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I…” She trailed off, not really sure what to say. If he would’ve let her apologize, this would’ve been much easier, but he just had to be an asshole yet again. “I told you what I wanted from you.”

After throwing out the shells, he washed his hands, saying nothing as he took his sweet time before returning. Absolutely insufferable, as per usual. When he still said nothing as he took his place a few feet from her again, she looked over at him. “Are you going to say anything?”  _ Please say something. _

“I don’t have anything to say,” he said, leaning against the counter as he watched her stir. 

_ Insufferable. _ She dropped her mixing spoon into the bowl and turned to face him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The outburst definitely made one of his eyebrows raise, but his tone was completely level when he spoke. “No, I’m not.”

She took a step toward him, the distance too much for how angry she was. She hated being taunted. That’s why Ian did it when they fought. “I'm trying to talk to you, and you can't even say anything?”

He took a step back, completely removing the distance she’d gained, and, fuck, she was done with his shit. “Nothing.”

“I—” She cut herself off right away, not actually knowing where she was going with it, but the anger in her gut just kept building the longer this went on without any semblance of resolution. Hell, it didn’t have to be a resolution at this point. Anything would’ve been better than being stuck in this limbo, him insisting they were friends when they most definitely were not anything of the sort. “Do you run away from everything like this? 

He pulled out a baking sheet and took her bowl she’d mixed and began rolling the balls into dough. Definitely not how the directions said to do it, but she wasn’t going to correct him. “Run away from what exactly?”

“From anything, Arin. You keep saying not to apologize, but you keep running away like I did something.” She turned from him to grip the counter and try to breathe, try not to say anything she would regret. “I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I'm sorry if I overstepped your boundaries. I'm sorry if I misread things.”

“Stop apologizing.”

He kept spooning the cookie dough onto the tray wrong. The sight made her anger mellow the slightest bit. “And maybe you should start.”

When he finished spooning the dough, he grabbed the cinnamon and sugar and sprinkled each container onto the cookies. Very much incorrect. She didn’t say anything. “What do you want me to apologize for? Pushing you away?” He sat the containers onto the counter and grabbed the pan before stalking to the oven and shoving the cookies inside.

“I just want you to talk to me, Arin. Were you lying when you wanted to be friends?”

He turned back to her then but didn’t stray from the oven. “No, I didn’t lie,” he said with an annoyed huff.

At the confession, she pressed her lips together, her anger still present but… resigned. “Well, you’re being a pretty shitty one right now.”

“What do you want?”

His tone wasn’t nearly as forgiving as the words, and she could only scoff at the disingenuity of it, clutching the counter again because he really was clueless. “I liked you in the kitchen last time, you know? And for most of my birthday. I really just want to know what I did to make things like this.” He’d agreed to sit in the backseat. She hadn’t forced him, but he was making her feel like he did.

He ran a hand through his hair, his confession finally coming in clutch. “You didn’t do anything, okay? You wanted me to hold you, and I couldn’t do it.”

She glanced down at the kitchen floor, the glimmer of it on the aisle over where he’d held her that night she’d cried and held his hand. Not friends, not enemies, but something. “You could've just said no. I would've understood.” She would have tried to, at least. The hurt would’ve worn off by now if he’d just said something.

He leaned against the oven, his eyes trained to the floor. Away from her. “I didn’t want to say no.”

That made her pause. It made everything pause—her brain, her breathing, her heart. She hated that it did. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I was scared, okay?” he said as he stepped away from the oven, voice quiet.

Her face falls a little, and the anger seemed to have dissipated by now, replaced by something even worse: guilt. “Why?”

“Almost everything has been a joke and that didn’t feel like one.”

She can’t deny the disappointment in hurt gut at that, but she didn’t have time to ponder it and what it meant. “Was it all a joke to you?” she asked, not really sure if she was ready for the answer, not really sure what she wanted the answer to be.

“I’m not sure.” He looked up at her. “Was it for you?”

She averted her eyes, never having admitted these facts to herself, let alone anyone else. “Not all of it.” In the beginning it was when she barely knew him. The hand-holding, the pet names, the marriage talk. She didn’t hold any particular disdain, but she didn’t find him a compatible person to be in a relationship with. It was easier like that. And then she found herself looking at him on the floor of a kitchen at three in the morning and wondering if his grip on her was going to vanish as he left her alone. That was the moment, she thought, that things weren’t going to be as easy as they should’ve been.

“Okay,” he said as he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I…” She trailed off, her mind going in so many directions at once as she considered the options here, but there weren’t many. “I’ll stop doing that then. Since it makes you uncomfortable.”

He took a few steps closer, shaking his head. “I…”

She looked up at him, only then realizing how close he was. How dangerously close. “It's alright. I should've known it would be a mistake.” All of this was a mistake. She shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

“The mistake was mine.” He reached and took her hand into his, rubbing his thumb over her skin. “You've been nothing but honest, and I haven't been.”

Too much. He was rejecting her, and this was too much. She tore her hand from his, no matter how much it hurt to do so. “Are you trying to play with my feelings or something?”

He took a step back and turned around, placing both hands on the counter. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“You don't have to... feel sorry for me,” she said, swallowing her pride. “You shouldn't do anything you don't want to.”

“I didn’t,” he mumbled, leaning a little more over the counter.

She almost took her leave then, left him where he stood to clean up all of this shit, but she stayed. Like a fool, she stayed. “Then what was so different about doing it then versus now?”

“What’s different?” he asked, voice lower and laced with frustration she hadn’t yet seen from him. At least there was emotion now. He turned to her. “Really?”

She was taken aback by his tone directed at her, but the frustration that had been slowly creeping into her consciousness was starting to take full control. “What? Am I supposed to know?”

“You go to Yale, Jen. You're smart.” He let out a breath. “I’m sure you can guess.”

She rolled her eyes. “I got good grades.”  _ And valedictorian, phenomenal recommendation letters, a volleyball deal, and national art awards. _ “That doesn't mean I can read minds, Arin.” If she could, she would’ve found a way to put it on her application a long time ago.

Another deep breath. Another confession to follow. She steeled herself. “I wasn't sure what would happen if I did what you wanted and got into the back of the car with you, okay?” He leaned back off the counter. “Are you happy now?”

“What…What did you think I wanted?” The question was a moot point.  _ She _ didn’t even know what she wanted out of that car ride.

“The same that I wanted, and I didn't know what to do.”

It took her a moment to realize he meant she thought she wanted to kiss him, and it took another moment to realize that he was right. She did want to kiss him, but she wasn’t going to, though she couldn’t recall why. “If it was what we both wanted, then what was so complicated?” she asked for both him and herself.

“I don’t think I’m ready, and I haven’t been,” he said simply, and she understood.

There were a lot of calculations going into this, and they were all wrong. She’d kept trying to account for whether or not  _ she _ was ready whilst completely ignoring the idea that he may not have been. After what she’d gone through, the idea that she could’ve done what Ian did to Arin was enough to make the regret dissipate. “Okay.”

Arin pushed away from the counter. “I did like holding your hand. It was nice,” he admitted as he stepped closer. “It made me feel like I was seen.” He paused before reaching for her hand again, this time much more hesitantly, like he was expecting her to pull away again. She didn’t. “But recently I—”

The talking she could do. The talking was exactly what she wanted. She squeezed his hand, encouraging him to go on.

“Felicity,” he murmured, looking down at their hands.

_ You and Felicity would get along well. _ His words from the last time in the kitchen rang through her head then, the first time she’d thought of them in a long time. She’d figured this had been about her. “You’re not over her.” Not a question.

“I just—” He stepped closer, his expression one he couldn’t read, but something about it was off. She recognized it on herself on occasion. He needed someone. She stayed. “She... something happened.”

When he turned back to the counter, she turned with him, still holding his hand. Even if she was mad not a few minutes ago, all she wanted was for him to talk to her. She wanted her friend back, no matter how brief. “You can tell me,” she murmured.

“We kissed.”

Jen paused, the words definitely not what she was expecting but still not out of the realm of possibilities enough to shock her. His tone, the remorse in his voice definitely indicated it was recent. He was telling her he’d kissed Felicity since the Selection had started.

A part of her didn’t like it, and it was obvious why. They were recently broken up. They’d been engaged. She was still around. Felicity wasn’t exactly her favorite person from the last run-in they had, but she didn’t know her well enough to really dislike her. It put a bad taste in her mouth that Arin was messing around with someone he was not supposed to when the girls were under contract to be exclusive with him and him only. She wouldn’t deny that. On the other hand, he sounded like he regretted it. He had no reason to tell her now when they hadn’t even kissed, but he did, and that was worth a lot to her. “Okay,” she told him, squeezing his hand.

“Okay?” The shock was audible in his voice, obviously not expecting her to be so understanding.

“I can’t…” She stopped herself when she realized she was about to go way too far into her own problems that were irrelevant at the moment, but then again, she had nothing to lose at this point. “I can't cast much blame. I've made... mistakes too.” Ian may have assaulted her, but she’d still willingly entered a relationship with him, still had the opportunity to say no almost every other time. That had to account for something. “Do  _ you _ think it was a mistake?” she asked, looking up at him.

He swallowed and nodded. “I wish it hadn’t happened.” He reached to brush his fingers across her cheek like he would to wipe away tears. Though there weren’t any this time around, she appreciated it anyway.

“Well, there you go. I think if you regret it, then you should work on forgiving yourself.” She let out a little sigh. “That's what I'm trying to do.”

“Jen, you didn’t do anything.”

Georgia’s smile permanently engraved into her brain was only the first example in the long trail of evidence that she, indeed, did something. “You have no idea what I’ve done.”  _ To the grave, _ she told herself again.

He kept stroking her cheek, kept standing with her at that counter and giving her hope for something she couldn’t have. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

She gave the smallest hint of a smile because he really had no idea. “Anything you say can't be worse. I promise you that.”

“I don’t want to say it.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You don’t have to, whatever it is.” She looked up at him and brought of the hand he wasn’t holding to touch his face in the same way he was to her, but she couldn’t deny her touch was definitely more timid. She just prayed he didn’t jerk away. “But if you ever want to, you can. Saying it out loud feels kinda good.”

“You'd be disappointed.”

There were few things that could disappoint her anymore. She let out a little, broken laugh, squeezing his hand again just a bit. “Trust me when I say I won’t be.” Whatever secrets he was keeping had to be tame compared to hers, but that didn’t make them any less painful.

“I am.” 

He closed his eyes and heaved a deep breath, and she could only watch him and think about how close they were, how close again. The first thing she noticed was that he didn’t smell like Versace. “Arin?”

He opened his eyes, looking down at her. “Yeah?”

She studied his face for a moment, trying to take in every detail in the short possible amount of time. She couldn’t help but let them settle on his lips before returning to his eyes. She wanted to kiss him. She still wanted to. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, not speaking, but then after a moment asked, “What are you thinking about?”

She kept eye contact with him, her smile faltering the slightest bit. There was no reason to lie anymore. She had nothing else to lose. “Things you said you’re not ready for.”

He gave a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t flinch from her words. “What if I was wrong?”

Her mouth twitched up a bit when he said it, brushing her thumb over his cheek. She wanted to kiss him. After everything, she just wanted to kiss him. “Were you?”

His thumb was stroking her hand, but that wasn’t an answer. That wasn’t what she needed to hear. “Maybe.” Neither was that.

“Tell me. Please.” Her voice was just above a whisper, and she hoped it didn’t sound as pleading as it felt. She leaned closer into his touch, figuring it would be a nice last taste before the possible rejection. It never came.

“Jen…” His voice was low. So quiet. She still liked how he said her name. “Yes.”

Her grip tightened on him for a moment from the momentary shock that encompassed her whole body. The voices came back then too, Ian’s voice in her head making demands he had no right to. He would hate this. Ian would hate that she was even close to another man, but when Jen looked up at Arin and saw the way he looked at her, she suddenly realized it didn’t matter. 

All those voices, and the one she’d been ignoring was her own.

She kissed him.

His lips were soft, and he was gentle. Too tall, maybe, but she could ignore that just this once and instead focus on the hand going to her cheek or the press of her back against the counter, solid and uncomfortable but a firm reminder of where she was. Who she was with.

She kissed him, and she wanted to.

But he was still so tall, so hard to reach, and she just wanted more. Pulling him closer wasn’t enough. She pulled away with a sickeningly sweet smile, not giving herself a moment to breathe before she hopped up onto the counter and extended her hand for him to take. “Come here.”

He accepted, letting her pull him forward and go back in for more, her legs settled on either side of his hips as they kissed again. It was harder than before, more intense, his hands on her back and face holding her close while hers remained on his shirt collar until they ventured down to his chest for a moment before going back up to the bare skin of his neck. Warm. He was so warm.

She pulled away after some time, needing a moment to breathe, but she couldn’t let him go, not yet. She pressed her forehead to his. “Okay?”

He answered with another kiss, hands cupping her cheeks with even less hesitance in the action. He wanted this too. She pulled him closer, her brain too focused on the press of his body against her and the brush of his fingers to stop the moan that escaped from her lips. She immediately pulled away, slapping a hand over her mouth as she met his eyes again, but neither had time to reply before the fire alarm sounded, and Arin, still gasping for air, immediately grabbed a towel to wave it at the fire alarm.

Jen hopped down from the counter, too many thoughts to process racing through her brain at once as she ran to the oven and opened it. It was smoking, but there was no fire, so she took an oven mitt to take the charred cookies and toss them on top. A quick glance to the temperature knob revealed that the oven was very much not what she’d set it on. “Did you set it to 450?” she asked when she looked back at him, the alarm finally shutting off.

He waved the towel a few more times before finally dropping his arm, looking back to her with heavy breaths. “No? I didn’t touch it.”

She waved the oven mitt over the pan to the heat radiating off the charred cookies. “I think you might be cursed.”

He shook his head as he walked over to stand beside her. “I don’t know,” he said, still a bit breathless. “You might be the cursed one.”

She turned to him with a playful glint in her eyes. Her heart still raced, but not out of nervousness. She felt good. This was okay. Everything was okay. “I am not. Take it back.”

“No.”

She took another step forward until their bodies were pressed together just as they had been a minute ago. She reached up to loop her arms around his neck. He didn’t pull away. “I'll make you regret it someday.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“Really?” She wanted to kiss his neck, but even on her tip-toes she couldn’t reach most of it, so she settled with sliding her hands down to the base of his neck instead, her thumb slipping under the collar of his shirt. It was a shame it wasn’t a button-down. “Guess you’ll have to watch out for me.”

She could hear his breath catch just a little bit, but that didn’t stop his arms from wrapping around her waist. “I can't even watch out for snickerdoodles.”

“I think it might've been a little of my fault too.”

“I…”

Jen leaned a bit closer, rising up to press her mouth against the base of his throat. “Or maybe we can skip the cookies, and I can get back on the counter for you.” 

She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she was expecting, but him groaning was not one of them, and she needed a good few seconds to process before she said  _ fuck it _ and pulled him back to the counter. Back to her. Back between her legs like he belonged there. And as she kissed him, as he kissed her, she found that she wanted him there, but this was getting more and more dangerous because every touch left her skin on fire, wanting more even if she knew she couldn’t.

_ Shouldn’t, _ she corrected herself. She could if she wanted to.

Her lips were on his neck the next time she spoke. “Arin?”

“Yes?” His tone was uneven, a little shaky, but he held onto her.

“I don’t want to have sex.”

There was a sharp intake of breath as he pulled away to look at her, the shock apparent on his face. “Jen…”

Her eyes met his for a moment before she tore her gaze away. She supposed she could have led up to that better, but she had to say it before she lost the nerve. She liked kissing him, but after certain realizations, she knew going further was a bad idea. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you just in case you were expecting—” She cut herself off, not even able to say it. Her gaze returned to his. “I just can't yet. That's all. I'm sorry.”

There was still confusion on his face, but at least it was a little less shocked. “I don’t want to either,” he said, voice soft as he looked down.

She wasn’t sure why a part of her was surprised since he hadn’t made moves to escalate anything himself, but she just nodded. “Okay. That's okay.” Her hands shifted to his cheeks, not liking the way he was looking down. “I still like kissing you.”

His breathing was slower now, a little more calculated as if he was trying to calm himself. “You think that’s all I wanted?”

“No,” she answered immediately because it was true. She was well-aware of how they’d gotten where they had. “I just don't completely trust myself to say no later when I know I should.”

He nodded, looking back up at her. “You can always say no.” A grimace. “Not that we were going to get that far.”

_ You can always say no. _ Ian had never thought that. Her consent was always conditional. “That’s fine.” Her hands slid down to rest on his shoulders. “I’m okay with… whatever we were just doing. That was good.”

He nodded for a moment before giving a small smile, leaning toward him. “You know what else is good?” he whispered.

And she had an inkling of where this was going, but she still played along. “What?”

“Sleep,” he said into her ear but made no move to pull away.

She held him there, wanting to relish the last few moments she had with him. She didn’t want to leave, but at the same time, she knew it would be too easy to slip back into what they were just doing and going too far. “Sleep does sound good.”

He pulled back a little, finally able to look at her, and still didn't let go. “Why don't you go to bed and I can clean this up?”

There was a smile on her lips as their eyes met again, and even if she would rather stay, it was probably better this way. At least she wouldn’t have to clean up all the shit she’d gotten out. “Trying to get rid of me?”

He shook his head and brought up his hand to her face, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. She couldn’t tell what the gaze he has on her means, but she didn’t ask. “Maybe, just a little.”

“I should’ve known.” She leaned in a bit, wanting to kiss him but saying something else instead. “Please don’t shut me out like that again.”

He pulled away a little bit more but didn’t remove his hand as he looked at her, not saying anything, and she wasn’t completely expecting him to, so she simply shifted to hop off the counter before looking back up at him. “Too tall,” she mumbled as she took a step back. “Goodnight.”

Arin also took a step back but kept his eyes on hers. “Goodnight, Jen,” he said, reaching for her wrist.

_ He doesn’t want you to leave, _ her mind urged, but she had to or she knew they would just start over. She almost asked him to walk her to her room, but the idea of him getting close to her room at the moment was a bad one. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She slipped from his grip on her wrist to instead squeeze his hand for a second before letting go.

She left him in the kitchen and went back to her room, and as she settled into bed against her pillows, she pressed her fingers to her lips, closing her eyes to remember the feeling of him again.


End file.
